Tell Me Why He Cares
by Ros3bud009
Summary: “If I want Brother to give me attention, I must learn what it is about you that he finds desirable.” With those words America finds himself involved with Belarus in ways neither of them expected. America/Belarus
1. Chapter 1

America bumped the door to his office open with his hip, carefully balancing a coffee in each hand. With a yawn he closed it with the back of his heel and approached his desk. The iced mocha in his left hand was placed in the mini-fridge. Once it was put away America fell into his plush office chair with a sigh of relief, allowing his eyes to stay closed as he breathed in his triple shot coffee. He brought it to his mouth and almost moaned as the steam caressed his lips. Finally the liquid was in his mouth and he already felt more awake, more aware, more _alive_.

America opened his eyes and gave a high-pitched yelp as he noticed Belarus standing by the door.

"Holy shit!"

The intruding nation just continued to watch him, her expression never changing. America's shouting, cursing, and spilling coffee all over his desk and pants didn't move her at all.

"What the hell are you doing?" America asked bitterly, mourning his undeserving coffee. He did have enough awareness without the caffeine to notice the darkening of Belarus's expression, and considered backtracking, but she spoke first.

"I'm observing you."

"…uh huh." America groaned tiredly. "And why are you doing that? Spying for Russia or something? Cold War is over, or so everyone tells me."

"I'm not here for brother."

"Then what _are _you here for?"

"You," Belarus stated plainly. For the first time America was almost glad his coffee was gone, because he would have likely dropped it at that point anyway. He waited a moment for the Twilight Zone music to set in, or someone to jump out proclaiming it was April Fool's in their country, but he was disappointed with only awkward silence.

God did he want to suck the coffee out of his pant leg, because he definitely needed the caffeine.

"You're here for _me_?

"Yes."

"_Why_?"

Belarus gave what America assumed to be a withering look. On anyone else it would have looked as if she was peeling your skin from your flesh with her eyes, but with her these things had to be taken into context. "I am here to observe you."

America continued to stare at her, expecting further explanation, but disappointment was the dish of the day. He even moved his hand as if to urge her on to continue, but to no avail as she just stared back. Had she even blinked yet?

"Ok, fine, I'll bite; then why_ are_ you observing me?"

"To see what it is that Brother sees in you."

"…what?"

"Yes, what."

America felt ready to rip his hair out. Instead he took a deep breath, composing himself. "No, what I mean is… never mind. Can you just explain this to me as if I have no idea what you're talking about? But seriously, I don't."

"Why should I?" Belarus asked, tilting her head to the side. How was it she could look so pretty but still be so goddamn creepy, America wondered to himself.

"Well, I dunno, maybe because you're _in my office_."

"I told you, I am here to observe."

"Yeah. In my office. _Waiting for me_."

Belarus gave him a blank stare, and it occurred to America that this was the girl who stalked _Russia_. Simply laying in wait in someone's office wouldn't seem out of line at all to her. Thankfully she decided to pity him and started to explain, saying, "I wish to marry Brother."

"Yeah. I think we all know that."

"Good. That makes this easy then," she said, and despite the chance she had to smile and ease the tension – which rated at least a red alert at this point – Belarus still gave him a blank look. America almost pitied the poor, unused smiling muscles. "I wish for Brother to return my love, but I do not know how. The last several decades you have somehow caught his attention and held it like few have. If I want Brother to give me attention, I must learn what it is about you that he finds desirable."

It was all America could do to stay sitting upright and cognizant. Finally he just gave in, bending over and practically ripped the door off the mini-fridge as he opened it to find the iced mocha he had bought for brunch. He tilted his head back and commenced to chug the entirety of the grande drink down. Once he had crushed it, placed it on his desk, and took a moment for the brain freeze to melt, he finally looked back at the girl watching him from beside the door.

"…_What?_"

"Do you not understand your own language?" Belarus almost smirked at him. He could see the corner of her lips twitching. But it wasn't helpful at all.

"No, believe me, it's not the words that confuse me," America clarified, finally feeling his mental processes getting back up to speed. "What makes you think that _Russia _finds _me _desirable? In case you don't recall, he almost destroyed the world because of how much he hated me and my freedom."

"Actually, you forced Brother to protect himself," Belarus stated, a spark of something akin to a death sentence flickering in her eyes.

But this wasn't a subject that America would let up on.

"Oh, don't give me that crap. I'll have you know--"

"That is beside the point," Belarus interrupted, and America almost pouted. "While I agree that there is not any reason for him to have any feelings for you but hatred, that does not erase the fact that he does find you intriguing."

"And what makes you say that?"

"Do you recall a certain window that was cracked shortly after the situation with Cuba--"

"Whoa, how did you know about--?"

"Or the time that Brother tried to convince you to let his boss visit your Disneyland--"

"Seriously, who the hell told you about that--?"

"Or shall we talk about when—"

"Ok, alright, I get it," America interrupted hastily, putting up his hands as if to stave off the mentions of his past affairs. "Yes, Russia and I had some, er, _stuff_ between us, but that doesn't mean we didn't still hate each other's guts. I assure you, what we had was purely, um, well…"

"Hate sex?" Christ, America thought to himself, that completely blank face only made these comments all the more startling.

"Yeah, sure, that." He sighed and began to rub his temple. "The point is, I really don't think that Russia can even begin to see what is desirable about me because he's too busy being a godless commie."

"Brother is no longer a communist."

"Whatever helps you sleep at night."

With that America tossed the empty coffee cups and napkins into the trash – although America still seriously considered chewing on the napkins, if just to salvage the lost treasure – and flipped open his laptop. Surely Belarus would get the idea that she was to leave. Usually he would consider being nicer; but really, she was trespassing on his private property (ignoring the fact that they all shared this building since it was in the UN building). Besides, she actually wanted to be around that son of a bitch Russia, and that made her suspicious by association.

And really. Russia, have a thing for him? America was aware that he was an awesome guy that anyone would want to be with, but Russia was, well, Russia. He defied logic.

No matter. Belarus would just leave and that would be that.

* * *

"Now, if you'll just look here and—_Fuck_!" England shouted, jumping back three feet when, as soon as he followed America into his office, he saw Belarus standing there, staring. America looked back at him as if to say, "Come on, are you serious?"

"B-Belarus, I, um…" The brit look to America imploringly but the young nation just shrugged.

"You get used to it. Now come on, you wanted to talk, right?"

England blinked confusedly, looking from Belarus to America and back again. Then he decidedly placed his attention on the American when she glowered at him. "Now, wait a minute, I can't just act as if she – er, you, Belarus – isn't here."

"Sure you can," America replied, already settling into his seat. "I have been for the past week."

"Alfred!" England admonished, "You can't just – I mean she's – oh bugger it. Belarus, would you mind stepping out for a bit?"

She blinked back blankly. "Would you ask Brother to leave?"

That had _not _been what England had expected. "Er, well, yes, I suppose so." With that Belarus turned on her heel and left the room, closing the door on her way out. The click of the door was all England needed to spin around and stomp over to America's desk.

"Now. You. What on _earth _is going on here?"

America leaned back in his chair and groaned, whining, "Come on Artie, can't we just drop it and work on this proposal?" England cocked a disapproving eyebrow at him and America rolled his eyes. "God, fine, you busybody. She's stalking me because she thinks Russia has a thing for me and wants to know what it is about me he likes."

"Does she now? Wonder where she got _that _idea." England asked, and it was clear America was not happy to hear sarcasm underlining it.

"Hey now, don't even! There never was, nor ever will be, anything between us, got it?" America protested. England looked as if he was going to refute that, but instead just sighed and shook his head. They had had this debate before, and the Brit had long learned that no matter how much evidence he had, America refused to budge on his position.

"Alright, fine," he conceded, "we'll just put that aside and continue to the point: she's here to see what there is that's likable about you?"

"Yeah, seems like it," America replied with a shrug. England blinked at him.

"Dare I ask how it is you can act so blasé about this? Belarus has been stalking you. For a week. How do you _not _worry about that?"

America rolled his eyes. "Oh, come on Artie, I'm not stupid. Rest assured, I dropped some fake information to see if she was passing anything on to her brother. So far nothing has, so security wise I'm safe. So it's nothing to worry about, right?"

England wanted to grab him by the shoulders and shake him, asking him how he could be so goddamn suspicious yet completely lack common sense. But ultimately the question would be lost on his paranoid ex-colony. So, he decided to just state the obvious, saying, "Alfred. You _can't_ just let things go on this way."

America replied, "What do _you _suggest? Because I told her Russia isn't into me, and then I ignored her. And frankly, do you really think I can ask her to _stop_? This is Russia's little sister we're talking about; there's no doubt she's some psychopath that would get off on doing what I don't want her to do."

England pretended to ponder for a moment, pacing a few steps before leaning against the wood desk. "Oh, I dunno, you can't deny her, and you can't ignore her, _what else could you do_?" The Brit eyed America and almost threw up his hands when he got a blank stare. Instead he cried, "My god, how dense _are_ you? If you can't get rid of her unless she gets what she wants, _give her what she wants_."

"…Are you suggesting what I think you are?"

"Yes, I believe I am," England stated, crossing his arms and giving America a stern look. "Just… be your regular, obnoxiously chipper, dreadfully hyperactive, in-your-face-to-a-fault self. Either she'll get it, or she'll be scared off."

America considered him for a moment. "Was that a concealed compliment?"

England just threw up his hands and started to leave, yelping again when he found Belarus standing directly in his path. "B-Belarus!"

"I thought that perhaps you would be done by now," Belarus stated. "Are you?"

"Ah, yes, I believe so," England replied, glancing back at America and giving him a look. "I'll just be going now. _Be good._"

Belarus just stared at him blankly, and as he strolled past England looked at his younger brother one last time. The look on America's face was as easy to read as a book: _pretend she's not Russia's sister, pretend she's not Russia's sister, pretend she's not Russia's sister_.

Before he closed the door, England heard America pipe up, saying, "Hey, Belarus, why don't you sit down? If you're going to be here anyway, you should be comfortable, right?"

"Are you getting ready to leave?" Belarus asked as America got up, yawning tiredly as he stretched his back. He blinked, a bit startled to hear her speak after hours of silence, and glanced down at his watch. 1:30 AM.

"Well, we do have that meeting at 9 tomorrow," he admitted, scratching his head. "I still have a few things to finish up though, and notes to review before giving that speech…"

"Can you not do that tomorrow in the morning?" she asked. "It would be best to review right before you give a speech, yes?" Again America blinked at her, shocked not just that she was talking to him again – other than was necessary they didn't talk at all since the beginning of the week – but that she was even giving him advice.

America couldn't help grinning for the first time that week. "What, don't tell me you're tired already!"

Belarus glowered, hearing the challenge in his voice. "I am not tired. You are the one who yawned."

"Aw, don't tell me you're worried about me," he teased, saving and closing the documents on his laptop as he watched her over the top of the screen. Belarus's glare grew darker, and for some reason that just tickled America's funny bone. Maybe England was right for once. "You know, Bela, that's almost kind of cute—"

With a loud bang his laptop was slammed shut and Belarus was on her feet, giving him what almost looked like a sneer.

America didn't have time to contemplate that however as his mind started whirling with the fact that _his work might not have finished saving_. He cursed loudly, swiftly opening it and praying to God that his work would all be there. As the screen loaded he glared back at the girl. "What the hell was that for?!"

"You will refer to me as Belarus," she stated simply before turning and leaving. As the door shut behind her America wanted nothing more than to call up England and tell him to shove it.

When the files all came up though, his enraged soul was soothed some, and he recalled that that moment _before _she went _batshit crazy _that she hadn't seemed all that bad.

And America wasn't one to give up so easy.

* * *

"Morning," America greeted as he walked down the hall to his office, spotting Belarus standing outside it. She glared at him with a hint of bitterness.

"You changed your lock."

"Ordered that a week ago actually. It just took a while for them to get it installed I guess," America replied, pulling out the card key the handy-men had slipped under his hotel room door. With a swipe the green light lit up and he opened the door, backing into it to hold it open for Belarus. She stared at him but finally walked in, refusing to acknowledge his chivalry. But no matter. America followed her over to the desk, tilting his head to indicate she take a seat in the seat across from his.

Instead of moving to his own chair though he handed her a paper cup of coffee that had been nestled in the cardboard carrier along with his iced mocha. Belarus looked up at him inquisitively.

"That is your coffee, yes?"

"Nah, I already downed mine," America explained, holding the cup out to her again. "I got this one for you. I didn't know how you liked it, so I just got it with some milk and sugar. Better too sweet than too bitter, right?" He smiled at her brightly, expecting her to smile back at his generosity.

Instead she just blinked and stated, "I do not like coffee."

Well. That was a bit of a killjoy.

"Oh," was all he could really manage, too shocked to even move his hand. Not only had she turned down his generosity – coffee wasn't cheap! – but she turned down _coffee_.

What kind of monster other than England would do that?

America coughed awkwardly, allowing the blanket of silence to fall between them again as he sat down in his chair and put the iced mocha away. Not wanting the hot coffee to be wasted he started to sip at it, shuddering happily as it filled his mouth with warmth. How anyone could not enjoy the orgasmic sensation that was drinking coffee, he would never know.

Twenty minutes later, as he finished his slow savoring of the beverage and reviewing his notes for the UN meeting he needed to be getting to, America peeked under the silence blanket, asking, "Hot cocoa?"

"What?" Belarus looked a bit startled to have him talking to her again. Well, as startled as Belarus could look. It was more like her eyes had widened a bit.

"Hot cocoa," America repeated. "You do know what that is, right? Do they have it over in that Eastern European area…?"

Belarus finally showed a slight variation in her face by cocking a brow at that. America hated how everyone else seemed to be able to do that but him. "Yes, I have had hot chocolate before. But I do not understand why it is relevant."

"Well do you like it?"

"Yes, but--"

"Excellent!" America cheered. He stood and shoved the rest of his papers into his briefcase, humming happily to himself. Belarus gawked at him confusedly.

"I still do not understand."

"You will!" With that America was up, strutting over to the door. "Now come on, we've got a UN meeting to get to!" The female nation warily got up from her seat and followed after, considering America carefully as she walked through the door he held open for her.

* * *

"Morning!" Canada greeted as he walked up to America in the line at Starbucks. The American grunted in response, rubbing at his eyes tiredly. Canada couldn't help chuckling. "Sorry, you are a bit of a zombie in the morning, eh?"

"_Morning people,_" America groaned, mouthing the words as if they physically hurt him to say. The barista handed him his huge coffee and he tossed his head back, chugging about half of it before stopping for air. He blinked, and like a switch had been flicked, the light in his eyes was back. Finally he looked at his brother, and managed to smirk. "So what are you doing here, Mr. 'I only drink coffee from Tim Horton's'?"

Canada rolled his eyes. "We both know that even though it's better than your Starbucks, somehow yours is the only one I can ever find abroad."

"'Better' my ass," America quipped before suddenly smacking himself in the forehead. "Jeez, I almost forgot! Barista?" Once he had the man's attention he asked, "Sorry, can I add a hot cocoa to my order?"

"Alfred," Canada reprimanded, "there's a long line! You can't just add onto your order!"

"But I don't have time to wait," America protested. "If I wait in line again I'll be late, and I can't just leave her waiting in the hallway."

"That's rude though—wait, _she_?" Canada considered the awkward grin on the other's face. "Al, who's waiting for you?"

America glanced away, laughing as if to cover up the fact that he wasn't sure how he felt about this topic anymore. However, Canada knew that laugh and lifted a brow at him. This made America pout a bit.

"How does everyone know how to do that?"

"Do what—Never mind," Canada sighed. "But seriously, what's up?"

America finally let out a deep breath and shrugged. "Nothing, really. Just, uh, well…" Suddenly the Barista called out his iced mocha and the newly ordered hot cocoa – Canada suspected this was due to the fact that America liked to flirt with the workers there to get free things. The nation brightened up instantly, picking up the little cardboard carrier and quickly blurted out, "Yeah Belarus is sort of stalking me right now but Arthur said to be nice and maybe she'll stop and I wanted to get her some hot cocoa since she doesn't like coffee and I don't want to leave her waiting in the hallway so nice talking to you Mattie, bye!"

And he was off, racing with his drinks and not stopping to look back. Canada blinked and considered what he'd just heard, but even once he had his drink he had to find a table to sit at. He knew his brother better than likely anyone else, and he knew something was off beneath the surface. America was dealing with some assortment of feelings he didn't know or want to handle.

This in and of itself was scary. But knowing that Belarus was involved made it horror movie-esque.

* * *

"What?" Belarus asked, glancing down at the drink hovering in front of her face and then back at the idiotic American's grinning face.

"For you," he said. "I bought you some hot cocoa because you said you like it."

Not really sure how to turn down the offered beverage without America continuing to pester her about it, Belarus took the drink with some feigned reluctance. His resulting smile was so bright and genuinely happy that Belarus found herself rushing into the room once he'd opened the door for her, desperately hoping he wouldn't notice the heat rising in her cheeks. It was foolish! What kind of a person would be so overjoyed that someone would take a drink they got for them? America was acting as if he actually cared if she liked the drink or not, and that was puzzling all on its own.

What was worse though was how, no matter how mediocre the hot chocolate itself was, Belarus cradled and savored it, feeling the warmth of it spread up into her chest. There had to be something America had slipped in, because even if they didn't talk, every time he caught her eye the heat in her chest grew worse. She didn't know what this new drug was, or how it could be triggered by such a specific visual stimuli, but whatever it was, it was diabolical.

When they left for lunch, and consequently the rest of the day for more meetings, Belarus was so caught up in her thoughts that it wasn't until after walking back to her room with Ukraine that she realized that America had called her Bela when he said his parting words.

Worse than that, he didn't just say good bye.

America had said "See you tomorrow" with a smile on his face.


	2. Chapter 2

"Do you like brother?" America looked up, searching Belarus's expression. There was no death threat in her eyes, so he assumed she was asking and not accusing. This didn't change his answer either way however.

"Nope." He went back to his work, smirking when she look at him pointedly, agitated with his response and lack of explanation. America glanced back up and, in a faux surprised voice, asked, "Oh, sorry, did you want more of an answer than that?"

"America," Belarus started, and if he wasn't just imagining things it looked like she was reaching under her skirt for the knife she had strapped there. That was always a good sign that the joke had gone too far for her liking. America put up his hands in a joking sort of surrender, feeling the slightest of a cold sweat break out across his brow.

"Alright, alright, I get it." He put his pen down next to the papers he had been working on, considering how best to continue. "Look, let's be honest for a second, ok Bela?"

"Belarus."

"I know your brother isn't a completely bad guy," America said, ignoring her correction. And he wasn't completely lying; he and Russia had gotten along once upon a time. That was however before he went crazy. Since the collapse of the USSR though, he seemed to be emerging from his insanity, occasionally showing signs of who he once was. "But let's be frank: he and I sort of were at war for, oh, about forty years, give or take."

"But you have been at war with many countries with whom you get along now," Belarus pointed out. "Like England."

"Well, yeah," America admitted, scratching the back of his neck, "But see, England's family, so I had more to gain by moving on from that. Russia though?" Here he shrugs. "Frankly there's no reason to overlook all the shit he did."

"But then why were you sexually involved--?"

"Let's _not _talk about that, ok?"

It was quiet for bit, and seeing no change of expression America picked up his pen to begin working again when Belarus spoke again. "But what about just who he is? If you had not had the Cold War?"

America sighed. "Look, he's a commie, ok? And I don't deal well with those socialist types."

"Your brother Canada has socialized healthcare though, does he not?" What was with this girl and pointing out all the contradictions in his life? America had to take a deep breath and think about that one.

"Well, see, Canada can't help it. He's too nice to everyone and ends up hanging out with a bad crowd. He can't help but be peer-pressured into being a socialist! I told him not to hang out with Cuba, and to this day he won't listen to me about how Netherlands is getting him hooked on dope, and nothing personal, but he even hangs out with your sister."

There was a distinct chill that ran through the room and America could have sworn it got a bit darker. Belarus peered out at him from under the fringe of her bangs and he thought for a moment he may turn to stone.

"_No one_," she starts, deep and low and deadly as she actually grabs the handle of the knife and slides it out of its sheathe, "_talks badly about my sister_."

America was up on his feet and physically retreating back a foot or two, stammering, "Whoa, _whoa_, wait, I don't mean she's a bad person, I mean, it's just that she associates with your brother--"

"_You dare insult my brother?_" Ok, the creepy I'm-going-to-kill-you smile was seriously disconcerting. Belarus got to her feet, bent over a bit so that her hair fell to the sides of her face. America could swear her eyes were glinting with malice from behind the silken hair. She started to go around the table and he started moving the other way, doing his best to keep the table between them.

"Wait wait wait I just mean – _shit put that away _– look, she could be giving Mattie socialist ideas and – _seriously __**fuck **__is that necessary_?" Belarus, finding the desk coming between her and her victim jumped onto it. America would deny it to his grave but deep down he knew he screamed like a girl. "I'm sorry, I take it back, I take it back!"

America was backed up against the wall, the knife tip pressed just under his chin. The freakish glint was gone from her eyes, but Belarus still looked ready to kill in an instant.

"Do you really?"

"Yes! I-I guess I shouldn't judge your sister, she's a nice person, _please take the knife away from my throat_." Thankfully her expression mellowed back into the usual apathetic expression and she spun on her heel, sheathing the knife. America noted the amount of leg this granted him the privilege of seeing before wondering what the hell was wrong with him.

After watching Belarus carefully for a minute or two America finally moved back to his desk, gingerly sitting in the chair. He nearly jumped back out of it when Belarus spoke again.

"Besides, it is your brother who is the worrying one. I do not see why Hannah enjoys his company."

America felt his eye twitch and glowered up at Belarus, asking, "Excuse me?"

"I am saying your brother is a bad influence on my sister."

America found himself on his feet again, palms planted on the desk surface as he smiled at her darkly. "_Are you really now_?"

The thoughts going through Belarus's mind didn't make themselves apparent, but they weren't fearful ones as America had been trying for. In fact, he could have sworn it looked like she was looking into a mirror.

"So, you care for your own brother?" she asked. America blinked, considered the knife-wielding nation before him, and nodded.

"Course I do. I don't want to _marry _him, but I still love him."

"What would you do if I did not take back my insult?"

"Well, I'd feel bad beating you up since you're a girl, so I'd probably just threaten you."

"With a knife?"

"Nah, I'm more of a gun person."

Belarus nodded. "That is reasonable. I will not insult your brother if you promise not to insult my siblings."

"Only Ukraine."

"Brother too."

"Nope. One sibling for one sibling."

"Then what if I promise also to not insult England?"

"You think I care if you insult Arthur?"

Belarus gazed at him contemplatively before nodding. "Alright. I will not insult Canada, you do not insult Hannah." America couldn't help letting the darkness of the smile fall away, leaving only an agreeable grin on his face.

"You've got yourself a deal, Bela!" He reached out to grab her hand, shaking it up and down before releasing it and settling back into his seat. Belarus looked at him in shook, not quite sure what had just transpired between their hands. Finally her face colored just the slightest and she glanced away.

"You will call me Belarus."

"Yeah, sure, whatever."

If America could ignore the death threat at knife point and his own glaring daggers at Belarus – which was worryingly easier to do than it should have been – the atmosphere almost became one of camaraderie. Just a couple of violently protective siblings enjoying coffee and cocoa whilst one stalked the other.

America was starting to consider England's opinion that he was insane.

After having spent over a week observing him, the last few days of which he actually interacted with her by choice, Belarus had come to notice several of America's little habits and unconscious signals. When he tapped his finger it meant he wanted some coffee. When he was working hard but was stumped on a particular problem, difficulty, or even just something as simple as trying to decide on his word choice, he would drink some coffee. When talking to people on the phone – when he wasn't calling them to excitedly tell them something but rather was being talked to or reprimanded – he would slump forward on his desk, rest his head on his hand that was propped on the desk, and stare longingly at his coffee.

Belarus didn't quite understand this obsession with coffee that America had, but it was certainly quite an addiction. It was nearly as bad as Brother's love of Vodka. Sometimes she was even tempted to say the American was further gone into his affair with his beverage, and that was quite a frightening thought to behold. America's solution to most all things was coffee.

Today though, America was different. He was twitchy. He kept looking out the window. He tapped with his fingers what Belarus thought was a medley of dozens of different American songs against the wooden desk. He couldn't look at his paper for longer than a minute or two before becoming distracted, looking at the wall where the bright sun light coming through the window landed.

And yet not once did America reach for the iced mocha he always had stowed away in his mini-fridge.

A small part of Belarus wanted to ask what was on the other's mind, but she quickly reconsidered. No doubt the fool would take it as her having actual interest in his personal well-being, and that just wouldn't stand. She was here to observe and understand him for the simple matter of finding what Brother found appealing. It had nothing to do with feelings for the idiotic American. None at all.

At. All.

It did not take long to find out however as suddenly America was on his feet, a brilliant smile plastered on his face. "Hey, Bela, let's get out of here!"

"Belarus," she clarified, yet again. How much longer was he going to continue with acting so familiar? "and what do you mean?"

"Outside!" America practically cheered. It looked to Belarus as if he was going to trip over himself in his excitement. "Come on, we've been cooped up for almost two weeks because of all this UN shit. _And_ it's sunny out."

"But you have work, yes?"

"I can do it later," America assured with that annoying smile. "Work can wait, but this sunny day won't!"

Belarus stared at him quizzically. "There will be many more sunny days."

"But I want to enjoy _this _one," he insisted as he got to his feet, already putting all his paper work away. "It'll be fun – we'll go to the park!"

Belarus opened her mouth to object – they were nations, they had hundreds upon thousands of days of good weather ahead of them, and paper work certainly couldn't wait – but didn't have enough time to do much more than squeak as she was yanked to her feet and pulled out the door.

America's hand was hot against her wrist and Belarus couldn't help but scold herself for enjoying the warmth seeping into her body from the contact.

What was worse however was how his hand slipped its way into hers and they didn't separate until they reached the park, huffing and puffing from all the running and jumping around. When America turned and grinned before noticing the connection of their hands, he flushed ever so slightly and let go, calling for them to walk around the park some to cool off.

Belarus liked his flustered expression. It was… charming.

She stopped in the middle of the path, her eyes wide as she watched the back of America's walking form. Had she really just referred to this ridiculous, coffee-chugging, hyperactive, idiotic _fool _of a nation as _charming_?

When America turned and asked her what was wrong, smiling as brightly as the sun warming his body, Belarus started to worry about where this mission was heading. Certainly she wanted to find out what Brother found intriguing about America, but she had never planned on beingcharmed_ herself_.

Begrudgingly she followed America, keeping her eyes straight ahead at all times and reminding herself of cold winters sitting next to her beloved Brother.

With every step the brilliant sunlight further melted the memories and left Belarus with no defense against America's innocent queries and laughter.

America hummed happily to himself as he watched the man in the stall pile ice cream on the cones. It was the second time that week that he had dragged Belarus from his office to get away from all the paperwork and silence. The first time, after once around the park, she had insisted that he get back to work as the next day was an important meeting for the Security Council. Which it was. So with that America conceded and they returned. The day after they saw little of one another; America had his long, arduous meetings while Belarus went out with her sister to do whatever it was they did. Belarus refused to comment on what they had done. But judging from the fancy outfit Ukraine wore the next day, he suspected they had been out shopping.

The idea of Belarus going out and shopping with her sister like a normal girl was both outlandish and deeply appealing. Maybe that was what did him in when they met again, only the second day after they had left the office together. He didn't even sit at his desk, instead tossing his briefcase onto the surface and sloughing off his suit jacket before proclaiming he was taking the day off.

And by he, he meant the both of them.

Belarus was less then pleased to hear this, but America insisted that he was going to go out whether she came or not. But really, if she wanted to observe him, she may want to come along too. It was almost like blackmail, but he felt no guilt in it.

And that was how America found himself in Central Park, buying ice cream to bring back to Belarus who he had left overlooking the pond. Somehow the whole thing left him unable to stop smiling.

Finally the man at the stall placed the two cones – one a chocolate-vanilla swirl and the other a plain vanilla that he had asked the man to pour rainbow sprinkles over – into the little tray and told America the cost. He dug through his pocket, chuckling as if to say, "Oh, right, money, forgot about that with all these far more important thoughts."

Once he had the money out and the man was taking it he grinned at America. "Nice day for a date, hmm?"

America blinked and glanced away, laughing awkwardly. "No, no, it's not like that, just taking a friend out – er, well, no, maybe not a friend, but a fellow worker that I've gotten to know? Not like out on a date of course, but just as not-really-friends, you know?"

The man broke out in a bark of a laugh, shaking his head. "Relax kid! Don't worry so much about it and just have a good time."

"But really, it's not!"

"Yeah, yeah, just get going before she gets bored," the man replied with a wink.

America pouted his lip but let it drop. He would never admit it to anyone, but he had little evidence to combat the claim. And how could he no matter how assuredly he refused to even admit to _himself, _in truth he didn't _want _to deny it.

Shaking his head, America tossed all his thoughts aside and with a skip in his step went to find Belarus. The adventure wasn't long as she was right where he'd left her, sitting on the green grass just under the shade of a big tree. Belarus, despite her more aggressive tendencies, still had a certain lady-like quality to her. The way she folded her legs to the side; her head tilted up to watch the leaves rustle; her skirt settled around her like a barrier to keep other from getting too close.

It was no doubt his rebellious nature that made America fold his legs under himself and sit on her skirt when she didn't immediately acknowledge his presence. Surely it had nothing to do with wanting her to always notice him or that he simply wanted to get closer to her, to move into her sphere of isolation.

Belarus startled at that, yelping and looking at him a bit shocked. America smiled apologetically as he realized she wasn't ignoring him but was genuinely space out.

"Sorry 'bout that," America said, holding out her ice cream. "Peace offering?"

Giving him a wary look, Belarus took the treat from him and appeared to be inspecting it. Her brow raised just the slightest. "What are these colorful things?"

America looked back, appalled. "Wha—what do you mean? Are you telling me you've never had rainbow sprinkles on your ice cream?"

Belarus's wary look turned withering as she replied, "We do not have a great need for ice cream, let alone these… how do you call them?"

"Rainbow sprinkles!"

"Yes. Those." Despite how cool her voice sounded, the more America's jaw dropped in horror the warmer her smile got. Certainly compared to anyone else it was still a cold smile, like comparing a summer in New York to a summer in Arizona. But anyone accustomed to New York would appreciate the warmth of its summer, and in the same way America appreciated Belarus's smile.

Well, if he ignored the fact that she smiled warmly because she enjoyed his bewilderedness.

America suddenly grinned his megawatt grin. "Well, try it! Come on!"

Belarus shook her head at his enthusiasm but nevertheless lifted the cone to her mouth. She paused for a moment.

"Alright, but only if you get off my skirt." America rolled his eyes but lifted his hips, shoving the skirt to the side so that he no longer sat on it.

"There. _Now, _try it!"

With a sigh Belarus hesitantly took the very tip of the ice cream into her mouth, looking vaguely contemplative as the substance hit her taste buds. America watched anxiously, asking, "So? Do you like it? It's awesome, right?" Belarus did not respond, simply tasting the treat in her mouth with a flat expression. The eager nation started to bounce where he sat. "Come on! You're killing me here!"

Belarus blew air out her nose almost like a laugh but swallowed. "It is… not bad."

"Not bad?" America asked, aghast. "_Not bad_? Come on, give me something that's not a double negative!"

"Fine," Belarus conceded, turning her head to look away. "It is… good."

"Really?"

"Yes."

America beamed from ear to ear at that. He had given Belarus her first taste of rainbow sprinkles, _and _she had liked it. On top of all that, she continued to lick her ice cream cone despite the slightest of flushes to her face.

Belarus was downright adorable when she blushed like that.

Too pleased to even be able to chide himself for the thought, America set to work devouring his own treat. He was already about half-way through when he took the time to look over at his companion again. Glancing at Belarus's face brought him to her eating her ice cream, and before he could stop it found himself intrigued by the motions of her pink tongue. It was really, _really _distracting, and he would later decide that he really should have gotten her chocolate or strawberry or _anything _that wasn't white and melted on her lips that way and—

Um. Well. _That _was certainly a funny feeling.

"America?" America blinked, realizing that Belarus had noticed his staring. Immediately the entirety of his face was filled with molten blood and before another word could be said America shoved the entirety of the rest of the ice cream, cone and all, into his mouth.

If there was one thing that could stop even the most rampant of awkward daydreams, it was a massive brain-freeze. Even as he started to recover, there was a spiking pain in the middle of his forehead and the distinct pounding of Yankee Doodle against the inside of his skull in ironic agony.

When he started to become cognizant again, America was shocked to find Belarus's hand on his shoulder. When he looked over at her, he regretted in instantly. Belarus had bent over the slightest, looking up at his face with worry not just appearing at the corners of her eyes as would be expected, but filling them to overflowing so that even her brows knitted in slight anxiety.

The icy bits of his brain instantly melted, and he feared the sudden heat wave that would be hitting the nation so hard that Lincoln would be frowning up at him from a melted puddle that was once his monument.

And, on top of it all, he had no more ice cream to bring on another brain freeze. Shit. Not good.

Ignoring the burning heat in his cheeks, America stammered out, "M'fine, just brain freeze" and with an audible "flump" fell backwards onto his back. Out of the corner of his eyes America saw Belarus shrug – had he ever seen her do that before? – and look away, presumably at the pond across from them.

America's brain still ached from being flash-frozen and his stomach was filled with giddy butterflies and Belarus was really rather pretty and the damned ice cream man's words continued to mock him through the haze of his thoughts and—

--Could this be a date?

The thought was a bit terrifying, if America was to be honest with himself.

But he bit his lip, gazing up at the blue sky and willing the thought along with everything else out of his mind. He would enjoy today dammit, and that was final. Worrying about unnamed emotions was just going to be a killjoy.

They didn't even need to be named, right? It wasn't like it would matter in the long run. Whatever they were would either make themselves known or just go away.

What trouble could they actually cause?


End file.
